


Late

by lunick



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Comfort, Death, M/M, character angst, uh but not of any main characters or anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunick/pseuds/lunick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tajima was too late, and now he's really not himself anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late

Tajima wasn't left behind this time.

He heard the ambulance first, fingers stiffening around his bat. It was just passing by, probably. Probably, nothing was wrong.

He bolted as soon as he saw the flashing lights stop in front of his house, practically clawing at the fence and ready to jump over it if the gate wouldn't open fast enough.

"Tajima! Where are you--" Hanai had called (only because he's the captain, of course, and he had to keep Tajima in line. That is definitely the only reason), but his words caught in his throat as soon as he saw the lights.

Something had happened.

\---

He was two minutes away.

He was two minutes away, and he was still too late.

Tajima saw the ambulance and ran, so maybe it was just the ambulance that was too late -- he got there just to see them preforming CPR on his great grandfather. He had had a heart attack, out in the garden, and it was really too late to do anything by the time anyone got there.

Tajima should've seen him. He can see their house from the baseball diamond, he can see the garden that he was working in from the gate. But he was too late, and so were the paramedics, and the ambulance, and everything was late, and wrong, as they took him out on a stretcher, and the whole family watched -- including Tajima, even though his older siblings tried to hold him back.

They didn't want him to see. It was hard enough for them -- but Tajima was only 16. He was only 16 when their great grandfather died, and had to be carried out of their house right in front of them, and was taken away. He was only 16, but he didn't cry.

\---

"Tajima."

"Huh?"

The freckled boy looks up to see Hanai, who he thinks isn't in his class, though he can't quite remember -- he's having more trouble than ever focusing these days. He's always had a lot on his mind, but it was all simple stuff: baseball, or his friends, or his family. But thoughts of his family overshadow everything else lately, and then those thoughts just upset him too much, though it's not like he can tell anyone about it.

"I... uh."

Hanai is holding his hands behind his back, and he looks embarrassed.

"I brought you lunch."

He brings his hands around and places a bento container down on his desk, carefully wrapped in fabric. He scratches the side of his neck.

"Izumi told me you hadn't been eating lunch lately."

Tajima stares up at him, big eyes glassy and distant. He hasn't been eating? He shifts his gaze down to the package, trying to remember the last time he ate a decent meal. No one at his house had been hungry, lately, so they just ate take out or, more often, nothing at all.

No one had the energy to make the effort.

"Can I sit down? Or do you want to go somewhere else?"

Where else is there to go? Tajima feels trapped, like he's contained in a small box consisting of the school and his home, which are two places he doesn't feel like being around anymore. Everything feels empty, and cold, and hollow. Even himself -- Tajima feels hollow.

He motions for Hanai to sit down with a wave of his hand, and the captain does automatically -- he had already pulled a chair over. He casts a worried glance over to Mihashi, Izumi, and Hamada, who are watching equally anxiously. Class isn't quite the same with Tajima the way he is now. They miss him, and they figured that Hanai could maybe talk some sense into him.

But this isn't really Hanai's area of expertise, the whole dealing with grief thing. He can be sympathetic, sure, and he can even be gentle if he needs to be, but he doesn't quite know what to say to make Tajima feel any better.

The clean up hitter pulls the wrapped bento towards him and unties the knot, unaware that Hanai is watching his every move. He blinks a few times, eyes staring at his teammates hands, but still managing to look so faraway. He takes a bite, but only one -- he pushes it away.

"I'm not very hungry."

He looks out the window, avoiding Hanai's worried eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together in an anxious frown.

"Sorry."

"It... it's okay."

Why is Tajima apologizing? The right fielder's eyes fall on his hand, which is curled up in on itself. He pauses.

"Give me your hand."

"What?"

He holds out his hand.

"Give me your hand, Tajima." The third baseman's eyebrows twitch downwards, just a little -- he's confused, but just doesn't have the energy to show it. He hesitates, fingers curling further into his palm before he carefully places his hand in Hanai's.

Tajima's hand is freezing, and tense.

Hanai knows something is very, very wrong here.

\---

"Hanai."

"T...Tajima..." Hanai says, startled by the sudden appearance of his teammate. He looks at the clock. It's 1 AM, and the clean up hitter has shown up at his doorstep for no apparent reason, and he looks like a wreck. "Uh... what're you... doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Hanai pulls back, confused. He just shows up here, and he wants to be let in, but... what is Hanai going to say? It's not like he can say no, not like he ever could to Tajima, but especially not now. He doesn't have any idea what they're going to do once he's inside, but he nods, carefully and quietly shutting the door behind him.

He leads Tajima into his room, who immediately starts looking around, at his desk, at his bed, at the little TV he has stationed in the corner, all with the same, distant look in his eyes.

"Ah... Tajima. Why did you... come here?"

"Didn't have anywhere else to go."

Hanai draws back, and blinks a few times -- he didn't have anywhere else to go? What is that supposed to mean?

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Uh.

"Is that okay with your parents?"

"They don't know I left."

Hanai takes that as a "what they don't know won't hurt them," and nods slowly. "I mean, if you want to? I guess you can. Let me make a bed for you--"

"I want to sleep with you, Hanai."

This stops him short. What the hell is that supposed to mean? A blush crawls up Hanai's features, and he pats the sides of his face to cool himself down. "Sure, we can do that."

Sure, we can share a bed. That's fine.

So they do. Tajima crawls in first, burying himself up to his ears in Hanai's blankets, quiet and unassuming. Hanai tilts his head. Is this really fine? He doesn't really have the time to think about it now, he supposes, so he turns off the light and also crawls into bed, only to have Tajima immediately duck his head under his chin and curl up the rest of his body so he can somehow manage to fill in the spaces of Hanai's body.

"Tajima..."

"Hanai... I'm scared."

What? Hanai lets his arms wrap around the small body curled up next to him. He rubs his thumb along Tajima's ribs in an automatic motion that he hopes is maybe soothing, somehow.

"What're you afraid of?"

"People dying."

Ah. That's the root of the problem, here. Tajima's fingers fiddle with the fabric of Hanai's shirt, his motions small, and timid.

"You won't go dying on me, right, Hanai?"

Hanai feels his heart stop, and his thumb stops its automatic motions, and his lungs aren't even taking in air -- he's sure he's going to suffocate. Where did that even come from? Since when has Hanai ever even meant that much to Tajima; shouldn't he be asking this to Mihashi, or Izumi, or his family or someone other than him? Someone more important than him.

The right fielder sucks in a shaky breath through his mouth.

"Of course not, Tajima."

Tajima pulls back, his hands desperately clutching at his shirt. He stares up at Hanai, his eyes are glassy and his bottom lip is quivering and his shoulders are shaking with every breath and god, if he starts crying, Hanai really doesn't know what he's going to do.

"Promise?"

Promise what? Not to die? That's an impossible thing to promise; everyone dies eventually.

But Hanai knows that's not what Tajima wants to hear.

"I... I promise..."

Tajima buries his face into the fabric of Hanai's shirt, and his whole body is shaking. Oh god, he's crying, and Hanai really doesn't do well with tears, and he can hear the clean up hitter's gasping breaths for air, and then the choked exhales. The captain brings up a hand and threads his fingers through his teammate's hair, holding the back of his head.

"It's okay..." he mumbles into Tajima's ear, his voice low. "I promised."

"You can't make that promise."

Tajima's voice is creaky and shaking and he's sniffing and stumbling in between each word.

"You can't promise that you won't die."

Hanai hums lightly, resting his chin on the top of Tajima's head.

"I guess you're right."

He lets Tajima slide from his grasp and look at him, tear stains shiny from the streetlamps outside against his skin. He lets his eyes wander about Tajima's face, and he lets his hands rest on the sides of Tajima's face, rubbing his thumbs under his eyes to wipe away the tears.

"But I can at least promise to be here for you right now, right?"

Before he quite knows what he's doing, he tilts his head down and presses his lips to Tajima's forehead. It's a comfort, supposedly, nothing more.

The third baseman brings up his hands and wraps them around Hanai's wrists, bringing them down from his face, and closing his eyes until the captain has moved back from the kiss. He looks up at the taller boy, eyes still glassy, but a small smile on his face.

"Thank you, Hanai."

"No problem," he mumbles, pressing his face to the side of Tajima's head. "What kind of captain would I be if I didn't look out for my teammates?"

What kind of friend would I be if I didn't look out for you?

Maybe that would have been a better choice of words, and he can think of a million other things he wants to say, but Tajima's breathing has always evened out and Hanai knows he's asleep, and he was too late. And even as he drifts off to sleep, those unsaid words hang in the back of Hanai's throat, the ones that he know would've made him feel better for good, but that also could've caused him untold humiliation if he had made a miscalculation.

So he remains quiet, and falls asleep, and Tajima is back to normal by morning.


End file.
